Need

Chapter 5

Durmstrang Castle eclipsed the sun, flinging long shadows across the trampled snow. With her back to the one of the two sets of iron-bound gates, Loup felt as though she were a prisoner let out for an hour of exercise, not a guest. The grounds encircling the massive edifice were extensive; hectares of snow-covered lawns enclosed by twenty-foot tall walls, not one but two Quidditch pitches and, along the south-facing side of the castle, a glittering suburb of greenhouses. Instead of feeling spacious, it was cage-like. Loup imagined the castle was under siege and she a prisoner there.

The burning sensation in her arm was growing stronger. Over an hour ago, her Mâitre had activated the binding spell, summoning her. She was late, but she tarried. It was all part of the game. How long could she put the meeting off? How much pain could she stand before she had to appear? The summoning started as a tickling sensation, then an itch that grew stronger until it began to burn, and soon it would be pain. The pain was worth it. Mâitre Faucon viewed her tardiness as a personal insult. Digging her fingers where the spell's mark shone, she wondered if the castle insulated her from the spell. Usually, it would hurt a lot more by this time.

Stopping every few strides to stare up at the top floor, she paced to help pass the time. The pastime lost its charm quickly. Bored and curious, she strode up the narrow path from the gates, bounding up the stairs into the main hall. The long staircases were empty as she jogged upwards to the topmost floor where the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had their offices. There, she stopped, waiting for someone to open a door or call for her. The Mâitre would know where she had arrived.

It was not Faucon who opened the office door. Instead, the local Auror appeared. Not good. She straightened herself and waited for him to wave her in or speak. Auror Johannes Werner watched her with icy blue eyes that made her squirm. With a nod, he stepped back into the office. After taking a second to smooth her long robes into place, she followed.

The quarters on the top floor were a far cry from those in the converted stables across from the castle. Unlike Professor Jones' office, furnished with a desk that looked as though its better days had been decades before, an ugly, but comfortable, chair that did not match its desk and a rush-bottomed chair that seemed in danger of coming apart at any second, this office was lush. The oak desk gleamed softly, vast expanses of polished wood lovingly cared for, its matching chair looking more like a throne. Three tall-backed chairs were set in front of the desk, the middle one holding a stack of folders and a black coat, undoubtedly Werner's. The area between desk and the array of visitor seating held a thick red carpet that Loup's heels sank into when she stopped and waited.

The men ignored her. She tried clearing her throat, gaining an annoyed glance from Faucon, but no offer of a seat. Hardly surprising since she had delayed the meeting. The two immersed themselves in a huge pile of paper and parchment, her records brought from Paris. It was a formality. Werner had read the file before they had arrived. He took his time, conferring now and again with the Mâitre, pointing at various pieces of interest and occasionally looking up at her. They left her standing until she began to shift her weight from foot to foot. Werner smiled thinly as he watched her fidget.

After what seemed an eternity to her, the paperwork was rolled up and secured. The men stared at her, taking in the robes, the eyes and the sullen expression. Completing his examination, Werner's index finger twitched. The summons brought a huge man, flanked by two others.

"Wand." The big man held out a black-gloved hand and waited. She produced her wand and handed it to him. His hand remained outstretched. Grudgingly, she produced another one. He arched an eyebrow, asking if there was another. She shook her head and he handed the two wands to one of the other officers. It was the same every time. Bored now, she watched as the Aurors forced the prior spells from the wands. They wouldn't find much. There were ways to hide what the wands had done and, with so much of her work documented in her files, there wasn't much reason to bother. But, of course, certain spells had been dispersed. It was part of the game.

Finished with their examination, all turned towards her. Confused, she held out her hand, expecting them to return her wands. The shorter of the officers handed the wands to Werner, leaving her to stand there with her hand still outstretched. This was not part of the standard procedure. They should return them and send her away or introduce her to the client. The big man reached into his jacket and took out the largest wand she had ever seen. With the briefest of gestures and an unheard spell, he cast a green, glowing grid from it. Loup looked over at her Mâitre who smiled knowingly and leaned back to watch. "What are you doing?"

"Checking," the big man growled. He smelled like an ashtray.

"For what?"

He grunted in response.

Contemptuously, Werner asked, "The City of Paris does not use Reperi spells on creatures like these?"

The Mâitre made an airy gesture with his hand. "Why? They cannot leave the city's boundaries. When they leave, they leave with one of us. Without us, they cannot return."

Werner gave a small snort. "What if it escapes?"

Sounding smug, Faucon replied, "If she wishes to return to the city, she must return with me."

Werner appeared a bit puzzled when the Mâitre did not elaborate.

"What he means is that if I want to return to Paris, I have to stay with him. I don't need a locator spell," she snapped, annoyed at being treated like an object.

Ignoring her, Werner asked, "What if it runs?"

The Mâitre laughed. "Where to? Where else is there to live but Paris? C'est vrai, Loup?"

She nodded, amused at the disgusted look on Werner's face. Where else would she go if not Paris?

Faucon and Werner continued their conference while the officers catalogued their findings. It was difficult to stand still and not see what they were seeing, and she didn't handle it well. With a flick of the enormous wand, the grid disappeared. The three Aurors turned and waited to be dismissed. Werner barely nodded and they were gone. It was another half-hour before her wands were returned and she was allowed to leave.

Cursing in three languages, she stormed down the staircases, taking two steps at a time until at the end she tripped and fell against the railing. The pain caught her attention and she stood still, rubbing her arm.

"Is there a problem?" a soft voice asked in French.

She paused, trying to word her question in vague enough terms, when she saw the three Aurors walk out of the great hall carrying food. The man who performed the grid spell grinned at her as he stuffed part of a sandwich into his mouth. "They cast some kind of green grid thing. I've never had that done before..." Her voice trailed off as she watched them exit the castle. "I'd like to know what it was."

Professor de Rais watched the officers leave. "Herr Mueller is most adept at the modern diagnostic procedures. The grid reveals the spells and charms that have been placed on you. They will want to know everything they can should they need to control you."

"I wonder what they saw. I couldn't see anything, just green."

"Are you interested?" Not waiting to see if she followed, de Rais turned and walked towards a door.

Startled, she fell in behind him. The door led to a hallway that was broken by offices at regular intervals. De Rais paused, listened for a moment in front of one, and then led her into an empty room. She started to ask a question, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand that produced a similar if not the same grid. His eyes tracked the results starting from the top corner, smiling slightly as he read the results. "You have had a great deal of work done to you."

"Such as?"

"There are some old spells. The Animagus spell. Quite old." He peered intently at her as if confirming that she could be that ancient. "I see several memory-enhancing charms. Always a wise precaution. An old Reperi spell, which was broken. Your work?" His mouth twitched into a fading smile when she looked away. "Three binding spells, two of which have expired. Are the spells used by the City of Paris time dependent?" She nodded. "You have been bound twice by them? Interesting. A few that I do not recognize but, from what I can see of their age, they must be from the time you lived in America. There are always variations that look different." He looked closer at the grid and gave her a wary glance. "I have only seen work like that once before. Did you run afoul of the Chinese wizards? Their magic is markedly different."

Not wanting to answer, she hesitated, noting how quickly his expression became inscrutable. It seemed rude not to answer. "I had to leave San Francisco when the Hua Clan took over the work. I think those are some kind of Repellere spells. Not sure though. I know I can't go back into the area. They had no grudge with me in particular, so they didn't kill me. Just made certain I couldn't go back home."

"I do not see anything similar to the work that Professor Jones has applied to her. I take it that you never encountered the government officials there?" De Rais waved his hand, vanishing the grid. With an air of indifference, he began to smooth his sleeves back into perfect placement and straighten his coat.

"No. They never knew about me. I was always very careful." Not exactly feeling relieved, she allowed herself to be distracted. "Jones got nabbed? That would explain why she's here and not in Seattle. Lot of work there. Especially in the last few years, or so I hear." When de Rais didn't respond, she turned towards the door.

"Madame, were I you, I would be cautious around Auror Werner. He does not think well of our profession." With that warning, de Rais opened the door and led the way back into the main hall.

There, the scent of food caught her attention, enticing her into the Great Hall. The hall was stuffed with students and all of the teachers' tables were filled. She turned to go to the Dark Arts table and found all of the professors, save de Rais, present. There was no room for another person to sit. Where there would have been room for de Rais, Kessler had invited Inge to sit. The girl reclined against Kessler who leaned over her, hands roaming. Disgusted and hungry, Loup stared Gregorov down until he got up and made room for her. Amused glances were exchanged between the others as she took Gregorov's place.

Wronski looked up from his journal. "I take it from your expression that it was a fun meeting."

Pouring herself a large glass of water, she grumbled, "Loads of fun. Can hardly wait for it again on Sunday." Furious at everything, she stabbed up slices of meat and pierced two potatoes, filling Gregorov's plate. Her knife scraped loudly against the defenseless plate as she savaged a slice of meat into random-sized pieces. With the fork almost to her lips, she suddenly snarled out a long groan and threw the fork back onto the plate. "Great. So mad that I forgot procedure." Reaching into a sleeve, she pulled a wand out and cast Confirmare spells on the food and water. No warnings glimmered.

"You should not have to worry," Lowenstein sleepily assured her.

"It's a good habit. I should keep it up," she replied between bites. "So, who is this Mueller guy?"

Jones snorted. "He's their breaker. Good one, too."

"He stinks. Smells like an ashtray. I've never seen a wand that big before." Loup glared at the opposite stone wall. "What is it with the black uniforms? Black boots, black gloves... I thought we had the monopoly on black."

That garnered a few chuckles and Haken passed what was left of the rolls over to her.

"Mueller likes his cigarettes. I think he smokes more than Rose." Wronski poked Jones in the ribs. She yelped in protest and wagged a finger threateningly at him. "He can be a real pain, but I think Werner is worse. You should hope they don't learn how to trigger your binding spell. They like to watch."

Loup nodded to herself, making mental notes. "You collected any hair or skin?" She looked over at Jones who frowned and shook her head. "Too bad. No one has been in a fight with them? No blood?" Blank faces answered. "I guess it shouldn't matter too much. I'm not here for that long."

"Which lecture are you attending?" Gregorov asked very politely as he watched Kessler and Inge.

"Dunno yet. Give me a chance to calm down." The last word was clipped short as Werner and Faucon strolled past on their way to the Defense table across the room. Loup stared, transfixed by their movements. When Werner took a sip from a glass of water, she whispered under her breath, "Gotcha."

With studied disinterest, Jones looked at both scenes. "Watch. He'll clean it before he goes. This guy's a pro."

Werner chatted with Lester for a few minutes, and quite nonchalantly, took out his wand, tapped the glass and turned to smile at their table. Raising his hand in a salute, he walked out the door, whistling.

"Bastard." Loup finished her roll and repeated Werner's actions on her own glass and tableware.

The bell began to toll. Professors rushed out of the room, grabbing satchels, bags and coats on their way to their classrooms. Loup nabbed the last of the rolls and shoved them into a pocket in her robes. When the crowds thinned, she followed the remaining students heading down.

There were several floors to descend before reaching what had once been dungeons. She admired the torches and ran her hand along the cool, slightly damp stone walls. Stopping to peer into each doorway, she tried to decide which class to attend.

Jones' classroom was tucked behind the stairs. Loup considered attending, but the topic sounded boring. Ritual Magic was something she had been involved with for a very long time.

Haken's room was filled with students, all between the ages of eleven and twelve.

With his back to six yawning students, Rabe droned. A brightly-colored diagram filled one wall, looking cheerful. The yawning was infectious and Loup's eyes began to droop.

The crackle of nervous energy surrounded Lowenstein's room, which was stuffed with older students, mostly women. Loup was impressed; this was the first time she had seen Lowenstein look awake and alert. While he lectured, he paced the width of the room, pausing now and again to lean onto a desk and look deep into a student's eyes. The air was tinged with a musky scent. Stifling a laugh, Loup turned away. There wasn't any place to sit or she would have stayed.

The next room was Gregorov's. She listened at the doorway for a while, critiquing his lecture style. When a student's question led the lecture offtopic, she left.

She could hear Kessler's loud discussion of some curse from almost any place in the hallway. Little of it made any sense and, as she passed the door, she noted that the adoring Inge was in the front row, gazing up at him.

Wronski's discussion of potions warranted a long pause but, since she rarely dealt with that particular avenue of the craft, she entered the last room where she found de Rais reading.

"No class?"

De Rais looked up. "Not until the next hour. I use this time to read." He returned his attention to the large manuscript that covered his podium.

She tried to read over his shoulder, but none of it made any sense to her. "That's not Latin. What language is it?"

"Aramaic. Serious students of magic should also learn Greek and some of the earlier forms of Persian as well. I would also recommend Chinese and Japanese if one has the time." De Rais did not look up, making it quite clear that he was not interested in holding a conversation.

Flinching just a bit from the slight, she took the hint and left his room, spending the rest of the hour listening to bits of each lecture from the hall. When the bell tolled the end of most classes, she turned, intending to go back to de Rais' class, but instead was swept into Jones' room. Finding a seat in a back corner, as much in the shadows as possible, she waited to see what sort of class "Special Projects" was.

Professor Jones began the class with returning and receiving homework. A discussion of some essay topics followed. The class was filled with seventh year students, all vying for the teacher's attention. The topic of the day was dispersal of magical energies. Jones was in her element. For a practitioner of the Dark Arts, dispersing the energies of spells was very important. It was both a matter of professional pride as well as a necessity to hide as much of your work as possible. If it were done correctly, almost all effects of the spells could be shrouded. The techniques were many and varied. The lecture was a series of techniques interspersed with tales of past successes and failures - the sort of thing no professional could resist sharing.

By the end of the first hour, Loup could no longer sit silently in the back. She, too, had many stories and other techniques to share. Where others may have appreciated her contributions, Jones did not. The smaller woman had just finished another in what seemed like an endless stream of anecdotes. In the pause between when the last word was said and before Jones could begin again, the dull thud of drumming fingers on a desk punctuated the calm. Jones followed the noise, students' heads turning with her gaze towards the culprit. The black robes and even blacker eyes out darkened the shadows, making Loup and her rapping fingers stand out.

"Do you have something to say?" Jones' attempt at keeping her voice level failed. The sarcasm clipped every word.

"Are you going to talk about the Corrumpere and how to use that to shift the energies? You've spent most of the last hour talking about the Dissipare and its add-ons, but you haven't touched on Pallescere or how to use an Occultare when there isn't time to do anything else." Slouching in the chair insolently, Loup stared at Jones as she waited for a reply.

The students waited, too. The best and the brightest of the Dark Arts students turned expectantly towards Jones who notably paled and swallowed nervously. "We're not ready to discuss those yet. The Occultare takes a great deal of personal power to cast."

A cruel smile slowly grew across Loup's face. "Really? What about the Corrumpere? Why don't you demonstrate that? It's an extremely useful thing to know."

There was a notable silence in the room; notable as Jones' lectures were always boisterous as she showered information upon her charges. "Uh. The Corrumpere, well, I don't think we need to address that one. Maybe some other time." The usually indomitable Jones hesitated just long enough to rouse suspicion.

"You don't know how, do you?" Loup pulled herself out of her slouch and leaned dramatically forward, one hand poised to make a point. "The Corrumpere is one of the basics, every practitioner should know how to use them. It's a novice's charm, really. My master had us learn it in our first year. The Pallescere is also useful, but then, you wouldn't know how to use that, either."

One of the girls in the second row raised her hand and stood almost at the same time in her eagerness. "How does it work, Frau professor?"

As Loup smirked and stood, ready to deliver her lecture, Jones exploded. It was bad enough to be caught out on a topic dear to her heart, but to have one of her students address that woman as "professor" was too much. "This is my class! And my lecture. The Dissipare is the most common method used to dissipate energies." Loup's chuckle melted into the last words causing Jones to increase her volume and turn bright red. "In this class, my class, we will use the Dissipare, not the Corruptor..."

"Corrumpere," Loup corrected, growling. "That's what it's called in most reputable grimoires. Of course, there are variants such as the Corrumpere with an overlay of any number of showy spells to distract anyone investigating what had been cast."

"Are you suggesting that I'm not teaching from reputable texts?" Jones' voice dropped back to a cold, measuring tone, far more frightening than the screaming.

"I'm not suggesting anything like that," Loup sniffed. "I just find it strange that you offer such a," she paused significantly, "limited range of options. When I was the same age as these students, I had been taught a number of different techniques, but then I was trained to work in the Dark Arts."

"Were you?" Flat, unemotional. "How nice for you. So, tell me then, what's it like to practice in Paris where they spoon-fed you clients? Have you ever had to actually do the work on your own or does your handler have to be around, just in case, you know, if you can't do it yourself?" Jones dug a hand into her coat pocket and produced a package of cigarettes. "I had to do my work alone. Never had anyone to hold my hand or bring me my clients. My reputation brought them." One sharp rap to the bottom of the package tapped out a single cigarette.

"No one has ever 'spoon-fed' me clients. My reputation is enough that clients come to me from all over Europe. Can you claim that?" Loup took a step down towards Jones, hand clenched and grinning a not smile. "No one holds my hand, but then, no one holds yours, either."

Touché. Jones lip curled in a sneer. She bought time as she lit her cigarette, something strictly forbidden within the castle, and took a deep drag. "Maybe. Maybe not, but I do know that I know what I'm talking about. I've learned my trade pretty damn well. I don't need hand holding or someone to make it all nice for me."

The strained silence was broken by the first peals of the bells. The solemn sound had barely begun before students raced to leave the room. The two women glowered at each other, reading insult into every facial tic and breath. At the last bell, Jones slammed out of her room and surged up the stairs, as terrified students scattered before the diminutive witch, clearing a path for her to the Bursar's office. Wronski, who was trying to convince the Bursar that he needed more funding for supplies, was literally knocked aside as Jones stormed into the Bursar's office.

Normally, any time spent with the Bursar was long and tedious. The old woman was not inclined to move swiftly and she could be quite contrary if pushed. Today, the Bursar sized Jones up in a glance and settled behind her desk, abacus in hand to calculate the exchange rate for the Galleons that were slammed down onto the desk. No comments about fees or reminders about curfews were given as Jones snatched up her money and stomped out the door in search of more cigarettes and something to eat in the village.

Wronski and the Bursar exchanged glances. He tried to restart their earlier conversation, but the Bursar pointed at the door, indicating that the time for words was over and he should leave.

Loup was furious enough to kill something. Stalking from the now-empty classroom, she found Gregorov leaning against a wall in the dungeon corridor, chatting amiably with Kessler. "Hunt now!" she ordered and motioned Gregorov to follow her. Gregorov hesitated for a moment and, ignoring the snide comment from his colleague, followed. They left the castle grounds in wolf form to chase down and eventually kill a wounded deer.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned later than usual for the Dark Arts professors. With the exception of Rabe, who was always awake with the sun, there seemed to be no one alive in the building. Rabe entered the staff room, humming to himself. He had decided to ignore the earlier problems with the visitor and make his usual pot of coffee. A quick glance at the couch showed no one there. For several seconds, he stood, head cocked to one side, wondering if this was a good thing or not, but soon shrugged the question off in favor of caffeine.

One by one, the staff stumbled into the common room. The long leather coats were left in the offices and the dress styles ranged from robes to jeans. By nine o'clock, almost everyone had made an appearance.

Jones dragged herself into the room, one of the last to arrive. She had made a point of staying out until curfew and stubbornly remained in bed until a caffeine headache forced her out. She poured the last of the pot into her mug and looked around, doing a mental headcount of those present.

Haken chatted with Wronski, making plans to go to the Quidditch match that afternoon. The Lowensteins were going to the village for the day. De Rais stood next to the small window, reading. Rabe's Herbology professor girlfriend Ewa Krakow had arrived earlier and they sat together at the table. Kessler dragged into the room, his young lover following a step behind. Conversation ceased briefly, but it was common enough that all returned to what they were doing with only a short pause. The only one missing was Gregorov - and Loup.

At the end of the next hour's bells, Loup showed up. Freshly showered and narrow-eyed, she entered the room. Jones bristled. Ignoring the smaller woman, Loup looked into the empty coffeepot and grimaced.

"The kitchens are closed until lunch time," Jones happily informed the air.

"Can more be made?" Loup asked Rabe, who pointedly ignored her, giving his amused girlfriend his full attention.

The scent of blood caught all of their attentions. Gregorov stumbled in, covered in blood, but none of it his. He looked only to his alpha, who gave no indication of seeing him at all.

"Did you cache it?" Her attention was on the empty pot.

Gregorov nodded.

"What did you kill? Smells like a deer." Kessler turned away from the girl, more interested in Gregorov's prey.

"A deer. Small one. Good hunt," Loup answered, still staring at the pot, willing coffee to appear.

Kessler grumbled, "I did not ask you. I asked Yuri."

"And I answered." She met his stare and held it. The invitation for a fight made plain. "It is my place to speak. Not his."

Inge pulled at Kessler's elbow, trying to drag him away back to his office. With a huff, Kessler put his mug down and making it quite clear that he was leaving to do something more pleasant.

Gregorov washed his hands, the water running red and then ran a hand over his face. "They do not understand," he muttered to her. "I am not certain that I understand, either. Come, talk with me in my quarters." The request was answered with an icy look. "Then, run with me. I will show you the grounds behind the castle. The greenhouses are full of wonderful things." She looked away, not interested or not willing.

Haken came over and took the pot away from Loup. With a sidelong glance at her, he began to fill it with water. The pot full, he gave Gregorov a pitying look before he cast a Cale spell to heat the water and then measured out the grounds. Haken paused before putting the grounds away and added another measure. "This should be très fort, Madame." For the extra effort, Haken got a wry smile and a 'thank you'.

"There is a game today. The seventh year boys play against each other. It should be a good match." Haken poured the boiling water over the grounds, releasing a wonderful smell. "Would you care to attend?"

"No thanks. Never understood the attraction for Quidditch. It never caught on back home." She sounded distracted as she watched the coffee slowly fill the pot.

Haken shrugged, poured her a mug and then offered some to Gregorov who reluctantly accepted the proffered mug.

As disorderly as they had arrived, the staff dispersed leaving only Jones, Gregorov and the visitor in the room. Jones planted herself, unwilling to leave the two alone.

Gregorov all but ignored, the two women watched each other. Loup took her time over her coffee, refilling the mug twice more, a slow, cruel smile drawing over her face. In the quiet of their mutual appraisal, the drip of the faucet seemed loud. When she finished her third mug, Loup rinsed it out and, holding Jones' eyes, reached out a hand for Gregorov. The predator mask descended over the taller woman as she ran her hand up Gregorov's arm to his elbow and led him out of the room. The point had been scored as Jones continued to stand where she was, stewing.